


Art of Compromise

by MissTrips



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age Kink Meme, Drug Addiction, Inquisitor Anders, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 10:16:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3565952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissTrips/pseuds/MissTrips
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the Dragon Age Kink meme:</p>
<p>Anders is the inquisitor but no one trusts him and thus they decide to have Cullen watch over Anders, where Anders goes he goes. To anyone who asks he's acting as Anders' bodyguard when in truth he's acting as templar once more.</p>
<p>At first he's harsh and somewhat cruel, I have little doubt he'd be angry after Kirkwall. From here A!A can choose to make their relationship become progressively worse (Dark!Cullen is kinda a guilty pleasure or kink of mine). I wouldn't mind if no one saves Anders from this steadly worsening relationship or if someone (possibly his much kinder LI) does. If yes, I like (in order of pref) Fenris, Iron Bull, Dorian, Cole, Hawke, Solas, Varric, and whoever else.</p>
<p>Or if Cullen starts to warm up to Anders and starts treating with a much gentler hand. Bonus if he doesn't realize he's in love with Anders until someone points it out.</p>
<p>I'd love Cole, and Anders interaction. For Solas to help Anders and Justice. And if there is porn, I do like bottom Anders.</p>
<p>Original Post on the Kink Meme.  This will be slow updates and much editing with some additions!</p>
<p>http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/13275.html?thread=50856411#t50856411</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StormDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormDragon/gifts).



9:40 Dragon - The Mage-Templar Wars  
  
With not one, but two wars roiling across the landscape, Orlais was a nation of opportunity.  To get rich, to make deals, or even to simply disappear.  While the nobility and Chantry clung to their power, the smaller folk of the field and farm struggled to get by.  A spirit healer wanting nothing more than to live quietly in a coastal village was an asset worth not talking about.  
  
  
It had been a long time since he'd dreamed.  Offering up space in his mind and body to Justice meant that when his dreaming mind touched the Fade, it was Justice who was dominant, the spirit relishing the contact with it's home plane.  Anders never remembered any of it, which Hawke had once pointed out as proof that they weren't completely one being.  But this dream wasn't of the Fade.  This had an all too familiar feel.  
  
Darkspawn.  
  
It woke him in the predawn hours, slipping from under warm covers to stand at the window and reach out, trying to feel where the creatures were.  If he could pinpoint them, then he could hopefully take care of them before the village roused for the day.  But no matter how he cast out his senses, other than a vague feeling of nearby Darkspawn, he found nothing.   
  
"You are up far too early," came a sleepy grumble from the bed.  
  
"Not by choice,"  he turned to look over at his lover and offered up a smile that didn't fool him for a second.  "I... I'm getting the feel of Darkspawn."  
  
In a moment, Fenris's eyes widened and then he gave a grim nod and swung out from the bed, early morning laziness replaced with the intensity that made the Tevinter elf such a lethal warrior.  "Where and how many?"  
  
He held up a hand, "I'm not sure.  It's not distinct... they may be still far underground."  
  
"But this close to a populated area, they could spread their Taint quickly if they catch people unawares."  
  
He grimaced and ran a hand through his hair, catching at the long strands come loose from his habitual tie back.  "And it's not exactly like we can go out and raise the alert, I'm not exactly advertising that I'm a Gray Warden."  
  
"We'll stay on guard, go through the area, see if you can find them."  
  
Despite several days of  patrolling, no sign of Darkspawn was found, but the nagging skritch refused to abate.  Several days turned into several weeks, then a month... and the skritch turned into a crooning song.  
  
// _There are no Spawn_.//  Justice's sibilant hiss in his mind was stating the fact that he didn't want to think about.  // _The only Taint is Ours_.//  
  
The Darkspawn Taint that enabled a Gray Warden to hunt down an Archdemon and end a Blight.  At the cost of a shortened lifespan, the end of which heralded by  "The Calling."  
  
"What?"  
  
He looked over to where the elf was slowly reading a message that had reached the town with the weekly merchant's shipment.  Everyone was talking of the incredibly welcome news of a Conclave called by the Divine, but Anders couldn't summon up the joy that a month ago he would have had,  "It's the Calling."  
  
"You can't be.  You weren't a Gray Warden until after the Blight, you should have at least ten more years left."  
  
"I know.  Maybe it was the time I spent in the Deep Roads, fighting the Architect, when Corypheus took hold of my Taint, extra strong dose in the Joining Cup... they were trying to convert Oghren after all..."  he shook his head  "I can feel it in my bones.  There's no other Darkspawn here.  Just me."  He paused to take in a shuddering breath and felt arms... so strong and sure... wrap about him fiercely.  "Like I told Hawke, there's no leaving the Wardens.  Even if I did skip out on all the parties."  
  
Anders leaned into the embrace for several minutes before stepping back.  "I'll write to Hawke.  Let her know.   Say... say goodbye. There's just one thing I want to do first."  
  
  
The trick to crossing miles of roads and small villages over the course of several weeks whilst being one of the most wanted men in all Thedas was to simply look not like himself at all.  Or rather, to not look like a mage.  His clothing was the plain tunic and trews of a man that had little coin to spend on niceties and a sword of no particular worth hung off one hip.  He'd spent just enough time practicing with it that he could draw it smoothly and hold it in a manner that implied violence, but no one challenged him.  He was just one more traveler on the road and the closer he drew towards Haven, the thicker the traffic became, until he was but one of many, drawn to the hopes that the war might be at an end.  
  
Once at Haven, he sold the sword for far less than it was worth for enough coin to buy a meal that was far more expensive than it should have been.  But the stew was hot, with a scrap or two of meat that might have been chicken.  All around him mages, Templars and other factions swirled in an uneasy truce as the final players trickled in over the next few days.  The Seekers were apparently late, no Gray Wardens had hit his sensing range, but everyone else was packing into the small village.  He watched on the edges as the Grand Clerics and their hangers-on arrived, that was the final piece of the Conclave, the Divine herself would be here the next day and on Thedas's holiest site, she would hear finally the words of the mages.  
  
// _And if she does not hear?_ //  
  
He closed his eyes at the words in his mind, hoping that there was no betraying gleam of light in his eyes.  Weeks away from Fenris or Hawke, from their strength to help him keep Justice from taking over... no.  No he could do this, this was everything that he had hoped for... this was what he'd _wanted_.  A chance to be heard, for justice.  The Divine would hear them at last.  
  
"Things will change.  Things have changed.  She will hear us."  
  
If Justinia did, he never knew.  His next waking memory was to a world gone mad and a piece of the Fade imbedded into his hand.  
  
  
~~~~~  
  
Elsewhere:  
  
"Let him go off to the Conclave.  One last thing before he immures himself in the Deep Roads forever.  What's the worst that could happen?"  
  
"Fenris... the sky is green and raining **_demons_**... how is that Anders fault?  Or yours?"  
  
"Do you really want me to answer that?"  
  
"No."


	2. Part One - Anders

Seven days after the Conclave Massacre

 

There was enough of a kernel of truth in the fact that the 'Herald of Andraste' needed a bodyguard to assign a Templar to him full time.  Several assassination attempts had occurred while he was still insensate for the first three days after he tumbled out of the rift, and those were people who were simply blaming him for the alleged murder of Divine Justinia.  After his identity was discovered, there was a sharp split in the Inquisition, those who believed the 'Abomination of Kirkwall' had simply ramped up his terrorism on the Chantry and those that believed that Andraste had chosen him and set on him the task of saving Thedas as atonement.  
  
Personally, Anders had no clue if it was Andraste in the Fade or not (though if it was she he regretted not remembering if he'd gotten a chance to finally have a look at her knickers), he was alive, there was a mark on his hand that meant dragging him off for summary execution or Tranquility was off the docket, Justice was behaving without Hawke and Fenris sitting on him and despite the Calling nagging him he wasn't devolving into a shambling Warden-ghoul.  Yet.  But he wasn't above admitting that well, it could have been Andraste, the Maker works in mysterious ways and all because every time he smiled and agreed it drove Cullen spare.  
  
Served the Templar bastard right, the way he dogged Anders every footstep like if he let the mage venture more than five feet away Anders would explode into an Archdemon and cackle something straight out of one of Varric's trashier novels before burning the world down.  Anders liked the world.  There were cats and pretty flowers and lyrium marked elves with the propensity to stretch out on furry rugs in front of fireplaces... but the point stood.  He like the world in one piece and he was even willing to go and meet a Chantry Mother who was busy helping out refugees stuck between groups of Templars and Mages gone crazy.  If this Giselle was willing to get off her Holy seat and help the people who needed it, she was someone that he wanted sticking around and Justice was in full agreement.  
  
Getting to her though was proving every bit as difficult as Scout Harding had warned.  The first stumbling block was a group of mages that had taken one look at Cassandra and Cullen in their Chantry marked gear and attacked in blind panic.  He reminded himself that these mages were most likely also responsible for some of the burned villages in the area and not the organized ones from Redcliffe and snapped barriers up around Varric while the dwarf grimly picked off two of mages that Cassandra and Cullen were carving to pieces.  
  
"The strength of your magic is impressive,"  Solas said as the elven apostate sent an icy barrage into the battle.  "Few mages have the reserve to maintain a spell of such magnitude,"  Solas nodded where the swirl of Panacea flickered the edges of his robes "and still cast freely in battle.  Is it your bond with Justice that gives you the reserves?"

"Justice, Gray Warden, years of actual use instead of monitored practice under a Circle... look out!"  Anders grabbed Solas by the tunic as the repulsion glyph under their feet vanished and pulled him away from the charging Templar who'd just finished dispelling Anders's wards.  He raised his staff to send a bolt of lightning into the man before the Templar could get his shield up.  
  
"You DARE!"  The roar came from behind Anders and his concentration faltered as a heavy body checked him hard into a near tree.  "You will not raise your hand to a Templar!"  Anders gasped for air and looked up angrily at Cullen to snap back that he was only defending Solas and himself, and Maker, Cullen was fine with Anders killing off hostile mages wasn't he?  Only Cullen lifted a hand and snapped "SILENCE," and words and magic were lost to him.  
  
It was with a bit of grim satisfaction that the oncoming Templars heeded Cullen's attempt to parlay about as much as the mages had and Cassandra and Varric had no qualms about putting an end to them.  
  
// _We do not need them._ //  The part of him that was Justice growled softly.  
  
Anders reminded the spirit that he couldn't slog around half of Fereldan alone closing the smaller rifts, let alone the big one still at Haven.  
  
// _Find other allies we should._ //

It was tempting, so tempting, to hightail it to Redcliffe.  But he didn't have the time and he was an old hand at weathering a Templar's hate.   He stayed leaning against the tree while Cassandra and Cullen argued and finally his Templar keeper growled assent and gave a twist of his hand, ending the binding on Anders.    
  
"You didn't mind me fighting the mages, but one Templar trying to take my head off and you nearly do it for him..." he began, only to be cut off by Varric.  
  
"Blondie?  Free advice.  You're in a hole so far down you're in the Deep Roads.  Don't dig further."  
  
Cassandra held up her hands, "Cullen has agreed.  The Herald has a right to defend his life and his life is the one we cannot afford to lose."  She looked over to Anders, "However, you should stick with healing and supporting magic unless you are directly threatened.  This should be an acceptable compromise."  
  
Anders felt his hands draw up into tight fists.  Chantry woman.  They were all about compromising with mages so long as the short half of the bargain never fell upon the shoulders of their Templars. Bile stuck in his throat.  "I want something in return."  He looked Cullen in the eyes, old rage matching old rage.  "In Haven, I am not to be mewed up in rooms until you think I'm needed.  There's only an apothecary for your healer.  He's out of his depth.  I'll take him as an assistant, make a proper clinic."  
  
He saw Cullen's eyes narrow, knew the man was thinking back to Kirkwall and how difficult it had been for the Templars to run down the Underground with Darktown backing and protecting their only source of succor.  
  
"I think that's an excellent idea,"  Solas spoke up.  "Healing has never been my strong suit and I would welcome a chance to converse with Justice."  
  
"Blondie pretty much was the best bonesetter in Kirkwall,"  Varric added.  
  
"That would be helpful for all of us,"  Cassandra nodded and turned to look at Cullen.  
  
Anders watched the Templar's nostrils flare briefly in anger.  "I cannot waste half a day watching you mix potions.  Set up the infirmary by the practice yard, when I am drilling the troops, you may work there."  
  
No lengthening of his leash it seemed.  Much as he wanted to dig in and hold out for more, Varric had a point.  His position was precarious enough as it was.  
  
"Fine.  Let's go find that Mother Giselle and see what she wants."


	3. Part Two - Cullen

Two days after the return from Val Royeaux:  
  
  
Cullen woke in the predawn hours to a low groan.  He kept his eyes shut and counted in his head to ten twice for control and also the vain hope that the sound would not be repeated.  The hitching breath and restless thrashing from across the room made him snarl silently.  There would be no getting back to sleep, the Abomination was in full grip of one of his nightmares.  
  
Let him thrash, the least he deserved was unrestful nights.  Cullen swung his feet to the floor, feeling the cold flagstones chase the last of the sleep from his mind.  The faint green glow leaking from behind the thin privacy screen - a faint sop of compromise towards separation between the two men - gave him enough light to find the oil lantern and relight it.  The warm golden flame was turned low, illuminating only his desk, enough light to do what he must.  Cullen slid open the drawer and pulled out a box.  
  
The smell of lyrium flooded his nose once he opened it and his mouth watered in greedy anticipation.  Cullen had though that joining Divine Justinia's reformed Inquisition would put an end to his life as a Templar, that he could wean himself off of lyrium once and for all.  He'd actually gotten the last traces out of his system just before the Conclave and while he hadn't been looking forward to the months of cravings and withdrawal, he'd felt confident he'd have the support to endure it and come out clean.  
  
The results of the Conclave had ended that hope.  The sky was torn asunder and there was an Abomination standing in the heart of the Inquisition, one that had proven he had no qualms about ending the lives of innocents in order to further his goals.  By rights he should have been struck dead where he'd fallen from the Fade, or at  the very least locked into the lowest cells and dosed with magebane until required.  
  
Instead he was being pandered to, including a trek all the way to Val Royeaux to speak with the Chantry.  As if the murderer had any right to speak at all.  Cassandra was far too willing to agree with Leliana in layering deception over the identity of the mage, referencing only that he was the sole survivor of the Conclave.  The schism of the Templars at the very seat of the Chantry had rattled Cullen as badly as it did Cassandra, leading for Varric of all people to pull the Abomination aside to meet an elf girl with rather... questionable fighting techniques.  
  


A firmer hand would need to be put on the mage.  Too many concessions had already been made to a man that could not be trusted.  Cullen measured out the lyrium, hating every last drop that he wanted so badly, hating the need for a Templar to make sure that the Abomination stayed yoked to the Inquistion's cause.  
  
Hating himself for being glad of the excuse to take it again.  He drank the lyruim slowly, feeling each swallow suffuse his body with power, teeth aching momentarily with the almost electric residue that indicated a high quality dose.  
  
Finished, he slid the damned box back into the desk and dressed for the day.  There was still an hour or so before the kitchen would be ready to serve food and he busied himself catching up on correspondence while listening to the Abomination suffer in dreams.  
  
Not the sweetest music, but a tune he could listen to for quite a while.  
  


 

 

Still Elsewhere:  
  
Dear Hawke,  
  
Been having a marvelous time in the frozen mountains.  Mages, Templars, demons, explosions, it's almost like I haven't left Kirkwall.  Met a fascinating human, know you'll just love him.  Runs around in dresses, glows strange colors and has a thing for cats.  I'll have to see if he's any good at cards if the Seeker and the Templar are willing to loosen their leash on him.  One day you should meet him and you two can compare titles.  Champion of Kirkwall and Herald of Andraste.  
  
Love, kisses and no really, stay the hell away from here, Blondie's as fine as he can be but it's crazy all the way down.  
  
Varric  
  
  
"What?  What?"  
  
"I take it Varric has some news?"  
  
"He's being called the Herald of _Andraste_?"  
  
"Varric?"  
  
"Guess again."  
  
"I should know better than to be sober whenever you read anything from the dwarf."  
  
"Share the wine, the next message is from Stroud."  
  


 


End file.
